you got that certain something
by Flotation Device
Summary: "Hey—Sookie? Do you think people can have, like, delayed teenage rebellions?" Lorelai gets a piercing, and everybody's a comedian.


So I watched an interview with Lauren Graham on Conan from the early days of Gilmore Girls, where she talked about how she wanted to get her bellybutton pierced and then changed her mind because it was too skanky. And thus, a story was born. Takes place during S4/S5.

This is unbelievably silly. Enjoy!

* * *

 **you got that certain something**

"I did a bad thing," she blurts, clutching the phone to her ear.

"Wait—mom? Is that you?" Rory responds blearily, her voice fuzzy through the phone.

"No, it's Curt Duncan. _Yes_ , it's your mother."

"Who? What's—what time is it? What's going on?"

"I did a bad thing, Rory," she repeats, drumming her fingers against the phone anxiously, and she hears Rory sighing, shifting around.

"Bad how? Bad like, 'whoops-is-that-your-shirt-I-stole-I-had-no-idea', or bad like 'Isildur-forgot-to-destroy-the-one-ring' bad?"

"Okay, you lost me with that one."

" _Mom_."

"Mm, more _Girls Gone Wild_ bad."

"You took your top off and licked some girl's face for a free T-shirt and a beer?" Rory says, scandalized, and Lorelai rolls her eyes.

"Not exactly," she says, glancing down at her stomach.

There's a pause. "Well?"

"Wow, relax, Hanns Scharff."

"Unbelievable. _You_ call _me_ —at seven thirty in the morning, might I add—and now suddenly _I'm_ —"

"Okay, okay," she says quickly, taking a deep breath. "Yesterday, as a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing, I _may_ have gotten a—a piercing."

"On…your ear?"

"Not exactly."

"Your nose?" Rory asks, her voice get shriller, and Lorelai closes her eyes.

"My bellybutton."

" _What?_ "

"I know! It's crazy."

"You flip out when I get a _haircut_ and don't tell you about it, and you _perforate_ your _body_ without calling me first? I can't believe this! I can't believe you would be this irresponsible."

"I know, I know, I'm sorry."

"Well, you should be," Rory says huffily. There's a pause. "So," she says hesitantly. "How's it look?"

Lorelai pulls up her shirt and looks down. "Uh, red? A bit swollen."

"Ew," Rory says lightly, and Lorelai purses her lips, considering.

* * *

"So how's the menu looking for Friday?" she asks a few hours later, sitting in Sookie's living room.

"Well," Sookie says, making a face. "Mrs. Richardson is a vegetarian, and Mr. Richardson is allergic to just about everything under the sun, but I think I can make it work."

"Sookie," Lorelai says seriously. "Have I ever told you that I love you?"

"Should've mentioned it sooner," Sookie says mournfully, wiggling her fingers so that her wedding band catches the light. "I've been snatched up by another man."

"Pity. We'd be excellent life partners."

"And we are _going_ to be excellent _business_ partners!" Sookie says excitedly, slapping her arm. "Hey, you want some coffee?"

"Is that a question?" she snorts, and gets up to follow her friend into the kitchen.

"I like your shirt, by the way," Sookie says conversationally, pouring water into the pot. "Flowy. It's pretty."

"Oh, yeah," she says, looking down at it. "Hey—Sookie?"

"Yeah?" she says distractedly, turning the coffeemaker on.

"Do you think people can have, like, delayed teenage rebellions?"

"What do you mean?"

Lorelai frowns. "I think I'm having one."

"Uh, honey, I think you already had yours. As a teenager. What with the drinking, the sex—"

"Okay—"

"The pregnancy, the running away from home—"

"I get it, thank you," she says firmly, crossing her arms and wincing as her shirt brushes against her stomach.

"What's this about, anyway?" Sookie asks, and Lorelai sighs, looking up at the ceiling, before lifting up her shirt. "Oh, my god!" Sookie yelps, and Lorelai nods, making a face.

"Yup."

"What? When? Why?"

"Yesterday. And, I don't know. It just came to me, you know, and it just felt like a now-or-never kind of thing, like an opportunity I had to seize right that second, and I—I seized it."

"Did you ever," Sookie says reverently, bending forward a bit to get a closer look. "Wow."

"Is that a good wow, or a bad wow?"

"A good wow. I think."

"That's reassuring," Lorelai says dryly, dropping her shirt, and Sookie lurches upright, rubbing a hand over her own swollen stomach in thought.

"Is it supposed to be all red like that?"

Lorelai sighs and reaches for a mug.

* * *

"Are you okay?" Luke asks, frowning, and she nods, trying her best at a nonchalant smile.

"Yep. Super."

"Super," he parrots, pursing his lips at her. "Coffee?"

"Yes please," she says, and as soon as his back is turned, reaches down to readjust her shirt, which is caught on the damn piercing again. At this point, she doesn't think she has ever regretted a single decision in her life more, which, frankly, is saying something.

"You want it for here, or to go?" Luke asks, glancing back over his shoulder, and she snaps to attention.

"For here, thanks."

"Something to eat?"

"Later." She shifts forwards, reaching to fish her phone out her bag, and hisses as her stomach bumps against the edge of the counter. "Shit," she mutters, biting her lip, which of course Luke hears, because he apparently has Superman hearing.

Stupid Luke, with his freakishly good hearing.

"Seriously, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she says, gritting her teeth, and he sets down the coffee pot, squinting at her.

"You don't look fine."

"Really, I'm great. Peachy."

He tilts his head, looking her over critically. "You sick or somethin'?"

"I'm _fine_ ," she says firmly. "You know what? I think I'll actually have that coffee to go. Thanks."

"Okay," he says, raising his eyebrows, and she huffs, sliding off her stool. Stupid piercing. Stupid counter. Stupid Luke.

He pushes a lid onto her cup and hands it to her, pausing for a moment before ringing her up. "You keep saying you're fine—"

"I _am_ ," she insists, her annoyance coupling with the lingering pain in her navel to blossom into full blown irritation.

"Okay, yeah, but if you're not—call me if you need anything, alright?"

"Oh," she says softly, the fight going right out of her. "Thanks, Luke."

He waves her off in a don't-mention-it kind of way and disappears into the kitchen, and as she steps outside, she feels a fluttering in her stomach that has nothing to do with the surgical steel bar poking through it.

* * *

"Okay, let's see it," Rory says that weekend, stepping out of her car.

"Hello to you too," she says, pulling her into a hug. "Is that laundry for me?"

"You know I'm always thinking of you," she replies prettily, fluttering her eyes. "Now seriously. Show me the damage, woman."

"Jeez, hold on," she says, looking around. "Inside. We don't need to give the neighbours a free show."

"Hey, it's nothing Babette hasn't seen before."

"She has eyes everywhere," Lorelai confirms. "But think of poor Morey."

Rory follows her across the porch, into the house, and up the stairs to her bedroom, where she pulls off her shirt and puts her hand on her hips nervously. "Well?"

"You know," Rory says pensively, chewing on her lip. "I think I actually like it."

"Really?" she says critically, turning to look herself over in the mirror. "It's not skanky?"

"It might be a little skanky," Rory says blandly, and Lorelai frowns. "But a little bit of skanky can be good."

"I can't believe my daughter just said that to me."

"Do you want my opinion or not?"

"Continue," Lorelai says, waving her hand in a vague gesture of acquiescence.

"As I was _saying_ ," Rory says primly, sitting down on the bed. "I couldn't picture it, before, but it's really growing on me. It's less Britney Spears than I thought it would be."

"I was going more for Alicia Silverstone," she says, looking back her over her shoulder. " _À la_ Aerosmith."

"Ooh, that's a great music video."

"Right?"

"Mm, yup, I definitely see it."

Lorelai turns back to the mirror and stares at the gem winking at her from her bellybutton. "Well," she sighs. "If I still hate it, I guess I can always take it out."

"That's the spirit," Rory says happily, getting to her feet. "Is there any coffee?"

* * *

 _Movie Night: Take II_ begins with a knock at the door, and a gust of cold wind to her face as she answers it.

"Hi," Luke grunts, stepping inside and kicking off his boots. "I brought food."

"I see that," she says happily, eyeing the take-out bags in his hands.

"Did you get Chinese food again?"

"No," she says, taking the bags out of his hands as he shrugs out of his coat. "Since it seemed to offend you to the very core of your being, I thought I'd pass this week."

He gives her a strange look, the hint of a smile playing on the edge of his mouth. "That's unusually considerate of you."

"Yes, well, we all have our moments," she quips, before flipping her hair over her shoulder and leading the way into the kitchen. "You want a drink? Beer's in the fridge."

She lets him help himself and starts pulling containers out of the bags, finding two cheeseburgers, a big box of fries, a tuna melt, a salad, and half a pie. "Hey, did you bring ketchup?"

"Oh, no, did I forget? Sorry."

"Wow, the service at this _Luke's_ is terrible," she says, shuffling over to the fridge. "They don't even bring you condiments."

"Yes, how inconvenient, when your free dinner doesn't come tailored to your exact specifications."

"The food industry really has gone downhill," she murmurs, scanning the fridge and finding it ketchup-less.

"No dice?" he asks sympathetically as she resurfaces.

"Oh no, there's more. The Gilmores are nothing if not prepared to gorge themselves on junk food," she says, opening the far right cupboard and squinting up at the top shelf. "Bingo."

"Want me to grab it?" Luke asks, leaning against the counter and popping his beer open, and she shakes her head.

"I got it," she says. "I don't mean to brag, but reaching the top shelf is kind of my specialty." She fumbles for it a bit, one hand on the counter, stretched onto her tippy toes, her shirt riding up as she reaches, but finally her fingers close around the bottle and she turns to face him, triumphant. Weirdly, though, Luke is not staring at her victory face, or at the ketchup bottle clutched proudly in her hands; instead, he's looking right past it, mouth open, at her stomach. "What?" she says self-consciously, putting the bottle down and tugging down on her shirt, and his eyes snap up to hers.

"Nothing," he says quickly, taking a sip of beer. She watches his throat work as he swallows, crossing her arms.

"No, seriously. What?"

"What's on your stomach?" he says, his voice sounding a bit strained.

"If you must know," she says, going for dignified outrage. "I got it pierced."

"You got it…" He trails off, his mouth forming words that fail to materialize.

"Yeah."

"Why?" He blurts.

"What do you care?"

"I don't."

"Good."

"Fine." They stare at each other, Luke gripping his beer, Lorelai digging her fingers into her arms.

Luke caves first. "Aren't you a little…"

"If you say old, I'll kill you."

He clears his throat, and she glares at him, daring him to finish his sentence. Instead, he takes another sip, and she deflates, running a hand through her hair. "God, is it really that bad?"

"It's not—" he starts to say, but cuts off when she pulls her shirt up a bit to look at it. It's not even red anymore! Or swollen! At all! It's just her skin, same colour as it's always been, and her belly button, and some metal, and a little white crystal, glittering under the kitchen lights.

"I knew it was a bad idea," she says despairingly, letting her shirt drop and crossing over to the table.

"So why'd you do it?"

"I don't know," she says, shrugging miserably. "It just seemed like fun. Let's just—let's just watch the movie, okay?" she says, grabbing a burger and fries and walking into the living room. "Bring the ketchup, would you?"

When Luke walks in, balancing the rest of the food and the two bottles in his hands, he lays it all out on the coffee table and then sits down as far away from her on the couch as possible. He doesn't stop glancing at her through all of _Rocky_ , though, and she pretends to watch the movie and not notice.

* * *

When Jason pulls her dress off for the first time, he laughs.

"Are you laughing at my naked body?" she demands, half joking, half offended, and he shakes his head.

"Not at all," he assures her, his face still split into a grin. "I mean, yes, technically, but really I'm laughing with you."

"Funny, I'm not laughing."

"I just—wow," he says, reaching for her stomach, and she slaps his hand away without thinking.

"Sorry," she says at his reproachful look, reaching up to kiss him. "It's just kind of new. I'm not really supposed to touch it."

His eyebrows fly up. "New? Like, how new?"

"A few months," she says, shrugging, and he smiles again.

"Amazing," he breathes, delighted, and she rolls her eyes as he steps into her space, his hands landing on her hips. "She's a middle-aged rebel."

"One, how incredibly rude of you, I am not middle-aged."

"Okay, sorry," he says, nodding at her and ducking his head to kiss her chin.

"And two, it's not even that rebellious, okay? People _have_ bellybutton piercings. Lots of people."

"What people?" he says, walking her backwards into his bedroom.

"Uh, Britney Spears, for one," she says, and he laughs again.

"You're taking fashion cues from Britney?"

"I was going more for Alicia, actually," she grumbles, and he moves to kiss her neck, sweeping her hair off her shoulder.

"What?" he murmurs, and she throws her hands up in the air, defeated.

"Never mind," she says heavily, and drops her hands to his butt, pulling him closer. "Forget it."

* * *

" _Psst_. Lorelai," Babette hisses, and Lorelai turns around in her chair to lean towards her and Miss Patty, who are drinking coffee and eating Danishes at the next table over.

"How can I help you lovely ladies?" she asks, whipping out a winning smile, and Miss Patty and Babette smile conspiratorially.

"Say, Lorelai," Miss Patty says casually. "We heard an interesting rumour."

"Is that so?"

Miss Patty nods graciously. "Yes, and we were just wondering if we could get it confirmed."

She fakes a gasp. "Wait—have you two been _gossiping_? I don't believe it." She gets a laugh with that one, but pretty soon they're back to business, eyeing her like hawks. "Uh," she says, shrinking back a bit. "What rumour?"

"Did you really—" Babette starts, before leaning forward and 'lowering' her voice to the loudest, scratchiest whisper Lorelai has ever heard. "Did you really get your you-know-what pierced?"

"My what-a-what?"

"You know," she rasps, looking side to side and leaning in even further. "Your, uh…" She sends a significant glance at her chest, and Lorelai brings her arm up over her breasts, feeling a bit violated.

"No!" she says, too loudly, and sees Luke look over with interest. "No," she repeats again, more quietly, looking between the two of them. "Ew, god, no. I did my bellybutton."

"I told you," Miss Patty says indulgently, taking a sip of her coffee, and Babette deflates, picking at her Danish.

"Yeah, well," she says dejectedly. "That's still something though! Your bellybutton, huh? Didn't it hurt?"

"It wasn't that bad."

"Isn't it a bit skanky though?"

"Babette!" she gasps, and Miss Patty laughs.

"Relax," she says, putting a big, ring-adorned hand on her arm. "A little bit of skanky can be good."

"So I hear," she grumbles, and turns back to her table. A few minutes later, Luke materializes at her side with a bacon cheeseburger, fries, and a scowl.

"They botherin' you?" he mutters, jerking his head towards Babette and Miss Patty, and she sighs, shaking her head.

"Not really. We were just talking about how skanky I am."

He freezes. "Oh—what?"

"Forget it."

He nods, turns away, and stops. "For the record," he says quietly, looking at the floor. "Getting one piercing doesn't really make you a—a skank."

"Thanks," she says miserably. "But you'll have to take it up with the peanut gallery."

* * *

She takes a good long shower before the opening; deep conditions her hair, lathers her whole body with sweet almond soap, scrubs every bit of skin she can reach. She takes a long time combing out her hair, runs oil and cream through it, lets it curl down her back; trims her nails, files them, paints them a pale, shimmering pink.

It's been sort of a whirlwind week, and the nerves from Liz's wedding are finally wearing off, only to be replaced with nerves about the test run. Which, for the record, she still cannot believe is happening, because for a minute there it really, truly, felt like it never would. And yet.

She carefully squeezes the water from the ends of her hair, hangs up her towel, and then takes a moment to just _look_ at herself in the mirror. _She_ did this. She, Lorelai Victoria Gilmore, built her own inn from the ground up (admittedly, with help and a partner, but the point still stands). She did a good thing. A good fucking job. With a kid, and no partner, and a mortgage; and Taylor and sink deliverymen and what felt, sometimes, like the whole world against her, and she did it. And she did it with a goddamn bellybutton piercing, and yeah, okay, skanky or not, she loves it. She loves her goddamn bellybutton piercing.

"Fiddle dee-dee," she whispers to the mirror, smiling, wishing for a Victorian dress and a sunset to complete the scene, and then shrugs on her bathrobe and steps out to get dressed.

* * *

"Wow, Luke, your apartment? I don't know what to say—this is all so sudden—"

"Lorelai, you practically dragged me up the stairs," he says, locking the door and turning to her, trying to hide his smile and failing. He looks handsome as ever, his lips a little red, his hair a little disheveled, the sleeves on his nice blue shirt pushed up past his elbows.

"As I recall, you came pretty willingly," she says coyly, and he grins outright.

"You have some pretty convincing methods of persuasion," he murmurs, and then steps forwards and kisses her again, his hands coming up to rest on her waist. She sinks into it, slow and warm, runs her hands up his chest and splays her fingers against his neck, feels his hands slide down to grip her hips.

"Hi," she says, pulling back and smiling wide.

"Hi," he says, and turns his head to press a kiss into her palm.

"You shaved," she says knowingly, running her fingers along his jaw, and he shrugs, moving his hands to press against her lower back. "You hoping to get lucky?"

"I was trying to be considerate," he says, his effort at grumpiness undermined by the shine in his eyes. He leans down to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth, and she threads her fingers through his hair to keep him there, tilts her head, meets his mouth with hers, and _god_ , it feels like she's been waiting months for this.

Oh wait—she has.

"I can't believe you left for _seven weeks_ ," she gasps as they break apart, and he presses a line of kisses along her jaw, sucks on the skin below her ear. " _That_ was not considerate."

"I'll make it up to you," he mumbles against her throat, and she slides her hands down his neck, across his shoulders, digs her nails into the muscles of his arms.

"I'm counting on it," she says, tilting her head back, giving him room to maneuver. "So," she says breathily. "What do you want to do?"

"I could make coffee," he says, his lips brushing against her skin as he sounds out the words, and she sighs, curving her body up against his.

"Mm, I don't feel like coffee." His hands come up to pull aside the collar of her jacket, and she shrugs out of it, helps him push it down her arms to the floor. "Maybe a drink?" she suggests, her voice coming out strained as his mouth moves across her collarbone and his hands slip below the hem of her shirt.

"I'm feeling kind of light-headed," he rumbles, and comes up to kiss her, his mouth hard and insistent against hers as he kisses her again, and again, and again. She reaches between them to work on the buttons of his shirt, her hands numb as they fumble against the smooth fabric.

"Okay, no drinks then," she whispers as he kisses his way down the other side of her jaw. She can feel his hands running up and down her back, his fingertips rough against her flushed skin. "How about, um—a movie."

"Sure," he mutters, and runs his tongue down her neck. Her knees wobble, and his arms wrap more tightly around her, pulling her hard against him. "What movie?"

"Um," she says, licking her lips and swallowing, her heart thundering in her chest, her head spinning. "Uh, you know what, I think I've seen them all."

"All of them?" he says, raising his head to look at her, and he's devastating, really, his hair going every which way, his mouth wet, his eyes dark and serious.

"Yup," she says, nodding her head. "All of them." She's got his shirt half undone and has changed tactics out of frustration, yanking instead of unbuttoning and just hoping it'll undo itself. Something like a smile ghosts across his face, and he leans back a couple inches, his hands nudging hers aside as he untucks his shirt and undoes it the rest of the way.

"Okay," he says, his voice quiet and low as he slides his shirt off and tosses it to the side. "So what do you want to do?"

She kisses him, slides her tongue against his, and then takes a step back, and then another, his eyes following her as she moves backwards across the room. She stops halfway between him and his bed, bites her lip, and pulls her shirt over her head, and she watches his lips part and his eyes widen as he takes her in. She's reaching up to smooth down her hair, suddenly self-conscious, when Luke reaches over his head and hauls off his undershirt.

"Hello," she says as he resurfaces, because, _hello_ , and he walks towards her, dropping his shirt onto the floor.

"What," he says flatly, coming to a stop in front of her, and she waggles her eyebrows at him, reaching up to press a hand to his chest, right over his heart.

"Someone's been hiding the goods," she says, giving him her best lecherous smile, and he rolls his eyes, wrapping his hand around her wrist.

"You've seen me shirtless before," he grumbles, pulling her hand down to her side.

She opens her mouth to respond, but something about the look on his face stops her. She falls silent, instead, as he puts his hands on her shoulders, traces her bra straps, rubs his thumbs along her collar bones; brushes the backs of his fingers along the sides of her breasts, runs his hands down her sides, strokes along her abdomen. She shivers as he brushes the skin above the waistband of her jeans and closes her eyes, feeling tense and loose all at once, and when she opens them again, he's staring at her stomach.

"Oh my god, this again?" she says, exasperated. "Look, I know you hate it, okay, but I forgot to take it out—"

But she cuts off when he grabs her by the face and kisses her, his hands warm on her jaw, his tongue hot and wet against hers; walks her backwards until the backs of her knees hit the edge of the bed, and she sits, hard, her breath catching in her lungs.

Luke drops to his knees in front of her, between her thighs, and pulls her in by the hips, his fingers threaded through the belt loops on her jeans. He presses his lips to the skin above her navel and lingers there, his shoulders gleaming in the dark, the tattoo on his arm (that she is _definitely_ asking about later) stark against his freckled skin. She leans back onto her elbows as he yanks her closer, and sighs against the feeling of his mouth moving across her ribs, down her stomach, his thumbs pressing against her hipbones. "I," he says between kisses. "Have been thinking about this stupid piercing—for _months_." His hands slide around to grip the backs of her thighs, and she gasps as he bites at her hip. " _Months_ , it's been driving me crazy. Just knowing—that it's there—it's been _torture_. Jesus, I've had—dreams about this—stupid thing. Unbelievable." He runs his hands back up her legs and reaches around to grab her ass, warm and heavy and solid as he leans against her, and, wow, somebody pinch her, because she kind of can't believe this is happening.

"Lorelai," he says to her stomach. "This is the sexiest goddamn thing I have ever seen." And then he licks straight up from her jeans to her bellybutton, and it pulls a sound out of her throat somewhere between a gasp and a moan, and in that moment, she knows two things.

The first: she is definitely sending Alicia Silverstone, and Aerosmith, and maybe even Britney Spears (because why the hell not), a thank you card.

The second: looking down at Luke, on his knees, his shoulders straining, his lips on her skin, she thinks she's finally decided what she wants to do tonight. And, from the look on his face as he tilts his head up to meet her stare, his mouth open, his eyes dark, well, she's guessing he's got the same idea.

* * *

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